In central Bucharest, bordered by parks and monuments, there is a short street called Strada Sofia. I have walked this street many times, back and forth along its length, travelling from one crumbling apartment block in the capital to another. Sofia's houses are large and muscled in together, crowding the sidewalks and each other. During Romania's lush warm months, there are climbing roses and thick green ivy covering walls and trailing into the street.
In 1989, near Christmas, Strada Sofia went quiet while the rest of the city exploded in violent revolt. What went on behind those silent walls?
a novel, by John Degen